Stained In Red
by Moonstar421
Summary: "The pipe in my hands, I lifted the cold metal above my head. Higher still, till I was on my toes to keep from falling backwards. It pulled down on my arms, till I let it drop to his forehead, using it's own weight for impact, in a delicious sounding..."


**_Hey guys..so the plot bunny bit me in the butt last night as I was playing Sims 3. I'm just a big ol' dork, but..._**

**_I had a kid, named Ivan Yvette, who looked a lot like Ivan Braginski, and it just kind of came to me. In this story, his sisters do not exist, thought I do love them, Urkraine for being motherly and loving, and Belarus for being crazy and obsessive. But in this story, they aren't included._**

**_It's my first real attempt at blood and a violent fic, so..it probably isn't too great, and I had to unleash my inner crazed person. So..it was fun and interesting to right._**

**_Review!_**

**_Disclaimer: Ivan Braginski does not belong to me. Ivan Yvette, Adrianne and Matthew do._**

* * *

><p>My name is Ivan Yvette.<p>

I am a Russian child of my mother, Adrianne and ungrateful father, Matthew. I was born in the cold winters of Russia as my mother gave her last ounce of life so that I would live. My father speaks ill of her now, saying he rather me dead and her alive and well. His words burn like the vodka he drinks when he comes home from his work shifts.

The night it happened, the snow storms of northern Russia, the same as always, howling winds while snow plundered homes and villages.

My mother was born here, used to the harsh cold.

Her body would convulse with each contraction due to my body slipping from her womb. My father loomed over her, stupid as to what to do. Her usual glossy platinum hair was pulled back and drenched in sweat, the fat beads rolling down her brow. Her bright purple eyes were misted over in pain and dull.

Frail and weakened from giving birth, her hands shook as she grasped the scissors, slicing the last bond between her and I. My body was freed of her, wet from the womb and slightly bloodied. Her body was nearly torn in half from the delivery itself.

Her last wishes were that my father would care for me, and hold no resentment. His promise to her was in vain, as I was placed the blame of his wife's death. The one that intentionally killed her. I knew her only by pictures, and I was told I looked so much like her, my father's looks not shining through any way but my nose.

I, since childhood, was never that of a looker. My bright purple eyes shocked people, while my nose caused small snickers and stares. My self confidence has never gotten better since I was a child.

My name is Ivan Braginski. I am Mother Russia.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Flash Back<strong>_

_I awoke to the loud snoring of my father as he lay across the couch in our single room shack. His breath emitted the strong smell of vodka as his breath puffed from his lips._

_It was still early in the morning, and I was 8 years old. My eyes held the dead color of my mother's once lively violet, while I gave her hair no justice as it was matted and unclean._

_My attention drew back to my father as his own snores awoke him. 'He is not worth it.' Looking around the room, I noted the rather large rusted pipe by the sink that protruded from the wall. The water no longer worked, and neither of us were clean. His money was in his alcohol now._

_My feet lead me to the pipe, while my hands moved by themselves._

_'He must die...' the voices told me, their own wide toothy grin shined through the shadows of my mind._

_Grasping the cold metal in my small grasp. My fingers didn't wrap all around it, but my grip was one to be known._

_My father had drifted to sleep again, his snores filling the room once more as his hand moved across the dirt floor. My eyes darted to his hand, while my arms struggled to lift the pipe. Afraid he was indeed conscious._

_With my weapon slung over my slender shoulder, I waddled back to the couch, now weighed down from the heavy metal. My steps were soft and padded against the floor, the walls not allowing them to echo due to the small holes that adorned them like pock marks, the whistling wind of a blizzard blowing through them._

_When I stood in front of my father, my lips began to tug at the corners, making a sick twisted smile. One identical to those of my friends who hid in my mind. Too afraid to come out and play. In fear father would harm them, or take them from me._

_It will never happen. Not after tonight._

_Eyes glancing to his ripped shoe, I winced involuntarily. His abuse over the years had grown worse. His intake of alcohol not ceasing. My own body had blooms of purple and blue, pictures of his abuse._

_The pipe in my hands, I lifted the cold metal above my head. And higher still, till I was on my toes to keep from falling backwards. It pulled down on my arms, till I let it drop to his forehead, using it's own weight, in a delicious sound._

_**CRACK!**_

_..._

_His breath had slowed to a stop, his eyes opened wide once the metal touched his skin. I could tell he had troubles breathing, for his hands grasped above him for air. Futile attempts. On his forehead was a small split where the cold metal met his skin, a small stream of a red substance running down it. His life seemed to slip him, for his struggles to keep life halted and his vodka drenched breath no longer exited his lungs._

_I loved this color. _I had never seen such a color before, and my free hand could not hold back the curiosity as they dragged through the flowing stream. It smeared over my now dead father's face. Staining it red._ Hands releasing the pipe to the floor, I engaged both hands in the activity, using the paint that dripped from my father's face to paint his face and neck like a canvas. Hand and finger prints of crimson and dried browns covered his pale face as I continued my game. My laughs were audible from my entertainment.'_

_My name is Ivan Braginski. I killed the **one** man who stood in my way._


End file.
